


Find Me in the Dark

by BerniceAmbler



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comforting, Fluff, M/M, cuddling in the dark, dwarf instruments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerniceAmbler/pseuds/BerniceAmbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the suffocating air and darkness of Mirkwood, two companions share in the comfort of music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Me in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hobbit fanfiction. Contains spoilers for the Mirkwood chapter in the book.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

It had at first been an unspeakable and surprising gesture, an attempt at any sort of comfort the company all had in days. "The last great forest" had been anything but 'great' to Thorin and his company. As the suffocating darkness threatened to overtake any unfortunate soul who dropped their guard, a silent and forbidding sadness and helplessness began to settle over the large group as they traveled farther and farther, slow and weak.

Which was precisely why, when Ori brought his little flute out from under his clothes one night, the other dwarves made little protest, many practically starved of merriment. He struck up a soft, solemn melody, very hesitant at first, as if any noise above a whisper would anger the evil forest. The sound carried around, lightening the mood and for once bringing about a peace they thought was lost.

He was the only one who played that night.

When sunlight came again (but who could tell since it was always dark and dim?), the same routine was carried out. They'd trudged forward, occasionally hearing strange voices and music in the long distance. Nobody talked or joked or sang. Everyone was on edge, in sour moods, or hungry, constantly hungry.

The second night Ori produced his flute again, this time trying a more upbeat and lively tune. The notes sped fast through his fingers. Still none of the other dwarves joined in, many simply too uptight or exhausted. After finishing with a few blunders from his nerves, Ori let out a grave sigh and slinked back into his cocoon of safety between Dori and Nori, but no words of comfort came from either of them.

The third night Ori played, he was joined not by the sound of a second flute of one of his brothers, but by the strained, sweet sound of a fiddle, strong and vigilant against the fragile night. His eyes could not see the form who played along with him, but Ori seemed to know who it was. Nobody played the fiddle quite like Fili did. Even his own brother had a style that was too frantic and fleeting to keep up with.

But frantic and fleeting was not welcome in their dire situation, and Ori's eyes widened in an excited glee as he continued the familiar melody of better days, Fili's careful fiddle stronger but never overpowering.

The song, being a lullaby, had no trouble soothing the company to sleep again. All around them the piercing, mysterious eyes of wild animals gleamed through the trees but never got any closer, as if they could not be touched by an unseen purity the music formed. On and on it went, rising and falling with each verse and refrain.

Ori's eyes squinted in earnest, for he wanted so much to see Fili, watch how his arm flexed with the movement of the bow, and how his fingers glided precisely over the strings. Were his eyes open or closed? Was the blond trying to stare back?

So lost in the music and his thoughts that Ori had not realized he had stopped playing, now desperately fighting the urge to take steps forward and reach out. He jumped violently when he heard a shift and the crunching of leaves come towards him. Before he could move a large hand reached out for his shoulder.

"Why did you stop playing?" Fili asked, his breath unknowingly inches from Ori's face in the darkness.

Ori gulped hard and let out a long nervous sigh.

"I...I don't know," he answered, sliding over some as a hope that the dwarf prince would sit down next to him sparked in his heart. "I suppose I was...caught up," he tried, bravely.

Fili only chuckled, his breath coming out as a shudder as he squeezed his way in next to the other dwarf, accidentally nudging Dori's sleeping form in the process. Rubbing his hands together as if it were suddenly freezing cold, he stared out into the darkness for a while, listening quietly and for once not fearing the terrible eyes blinking back at them from all directions.

It was Ori next who broke the silence. "Whenever I play, it's like I am in another place." He fingered his instrument fondly, looking down at the outline it made, imagining its polished surface.

"Yeah?" Fili answered, "What kind of places?"

Ori hesitated. "Happy places, places like home..." Places like the Lonely Mountain and the forgotten gold reclaimed, places of warmth and security deep in the blue mountains, places Ori can only vaguely imagine.

"Home," Fili repeated softly, smiling and letting himself revel in another world for a moment as well, imagining himself in Erebor, as an heir, as a brave warrior, as a companion...Fili barely heard himself respond.

"When I play my fiddle I feel in control, like nothing can be taken from me." He absentmindedly plucked a few notes on his small instrument, the bow already long tucked safely under his furs. His eyes began to sadden. "When I play, I don't feel weak, I don't-"

"I don't believe you are weak!" Ori's quick voice, sharper this time, startled Fili out of his thoughts, and if Fili were able to see the older dwarf's face, it would have shown a determined, almost uncharacteristic anger.

"Ori..."

"Mister Fili there has never been a time on our journey so far in which you have shown weakness. You are a great heir of Durin..." A lovely heir of Durin. "If only I were able to do half of the things you do, I would not be considered a...a tagalong," he finished, his anger transforming into an insecure whisper.

He wished he could let Fili know what went through his mind when he watched the prince in motion, whether in battle or during song. The young prince gave him courage, a courage that shook him out of his neat little box of knitting needles and yarn, of his books and quills. He wanted to tell Fili everything, but instead he stayed silent. Perhaps one day, he thought.

Ori continued to stare in the direction of the blond, half expecting him to leave from his bold words. But instead he felt something graze his shoulder again. It was a calloused hand, Fili's, and it gripped tight as a second hand moved to softly run down the side of his face. Ori flinched at the touch, but only out of shock. His cheeks grew warm as the hand did not leave, only traveled down to play in the tangled mats of his short beard.

"Mister Ori, there has never been a time on our journey so far in which you were viewed as a tagalong."

Ori held in his breath at the words Fili mirrored, deeply touched, and cursing the darkened forest once again for stealing away a sight he most desperately wanted to see, Fili's sincerity.

"Fili.." But before he could finish, Ori found himself being pulled forward softly in an awkward embrace, two arms curling around his tense, frightened shoulders. He felt a weight at the top of his head (Fili's chin) and his nose buried itself in the furs of a dirty coat.

They stayed like that for a good long while, just hearing the other one breathe. As time wore on, and the comfort of their instruments long faded, both were beginning to get increasingly alert as the wind picked up slightly, causing the forest to moan and creek terribly. The flute and the fiddle were now lost among the grass, mud and blankets, releasing any promise of another song that night, for music could only do so much as comfort and a recipe for hope and joy.

Ori gripped Fili tighter, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to fight against the shivers that wracked him, both from cold and from an unseen terror. Fili seemed to be fighting the same battle, his breath raspy, uneven, and hitching ever so often at every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves.

They did not to think of the upcoming, new dangers they would possibly have to face in the morning, a new foreign enemy laying deep within the horrid trees. And as Fili shifted to where their bodies were still close but now lay against a single bedroll, he hummed the lullaby from earlier, just barely audible in the wind. Ori's lips moved silently against his shirt, as if singing along.

When Fili stopped the song, his lips traveled down to Ori's temple for a tiny kiss, and he only offered a few words goodnight before closing his eyes. Ori's heart gave a leap as he snuggled closer, thanking his creator before drifting off as well.

And no nightmares came to either of them that night.


End file.
